The Newcomer Raid
by Lisa-la
Summary: While delivering medical supplies to a village, the Rats introduce a rookie medic to their kind of desert warfare. My first attempt at an OC. Originally published in Under The Sun 1 by Compass Rose Press in May 1999.


With thanks to RK McBride for the encouragement and advice!

Sergeant Sam Troy stepped out into the afternoon sun from the headquarters building and shook his head, squinting until his eyes adjusted to the glare. He wasn't happy about this next mission, and he knew his team was going to hate it. It was almost a waste of the Rat Patrol's unique talents, to send them out on something this simple when they could be spending the time tormenting German commanders and destroying their supply lines. Command, on the other hand, felt that the importance of the mission called for their best – and that meant the Rat Patrol. With a sigh, Troy settled his hat onto his head and set out to meet the others for dinner.

###

They gathered after their evening meal in the tent that was their current home, sitting on cots and listening as Troy outlined the mission while leaning against a convenient camp table. When the rest of the patrol heard the plan, they agreed with Troy's appraisal.

"It's a milk run!" Hitch exclaimed in disgust.

"Medical supplies, Sarge?" added Tully. "Shouldn't they be sending a convoy or something?"

"Or something," muttered Moffitt under his breath, but with a slight smile. He was picturing their two little jeeps stacked so high with medical equipment that they sank into the sand from the weight. When Troy shot him a look, though, he decided to come to the American's defense. "All they want us to do is transport these supplies to this village they're trying to win over, and hand it over to the local doctor?" At Troy's nod, Moffitt glanced at the two privates. "I don't know about you chaps, but I believe I'm looking forward to an easy one for a change."

As Tully smiled appreciatively and Hitch cocked his head, considering, Troy explained, "We are going into unclaimed territory, but the intelligence guys say it's been quiet out there for a few weeks. It's just a couple crates – a show of good faith. Once the higher-ups get the details worked out, then they'll send in a convoy. Some of this stuff is really new, too, so we'll need you, Moffitt, to explain how it should be used to the doctor – he doesn't speak English."

"Hold on there a second," Moffitt interrupted, momentarily concerned. "What makes Command think I know how these things are used?"

"They don't. They're sending someone with us who can explain, but he can't speak Arabic."

A doctor?" Hitch asked.

"Nope," Troy replied, taking a seat on a cot beside Moffitt. "They can't spare a doctor right now; they're sending a combat medic." After they'd had a moment to digest this, he added slowly, "Look, I know it's not what we usually get, but Command doesn't want anything going wrong with this. I kind of agree with Moffitt: We pick this guy up, drive a day out, spend the night in the village and drive him back. Think of it like a vacation – a walk in the park."

"With jeeps and Jerries," added Tully helpfully.

"Possible Jerries," Troy corrected with a grin. When there didn't seem to be any further protest, he concluded, "Let's get some sleep – we're leaving early."

###

They finished breakfast and headed to their jeeps just after dawn, with Moffitt making a brief side trip to collect their passenger and cargo from the medical unit. As Troy and Hitch loaded the last of their gear, and Tully closed the hood of his jeep after a final engine check, the Englishman returned with the young medic, each man bearing a crate marked "Medical Supplies."

"Here," Moffitt huffed, handing his burden off to Hitch as Tully relieved the medic. "Stow these somewhere, and tie them down. Troy, this is Private Andrew Spencer."

"It's Drew, actually." Spencer extended his hand in greeting. "A pleasure to meet you, Sergeant Troy," he said in a pleasant British accent. "It appears we'll be traveling together."

"Looks like it," Troy replied, returning the handshake as they were joined by Tully and Hitch. "You've already met Sergeant Moffitt; these two characters are Privates First Class Mark Hitchcock and Tully Pettigrew."

As handshakes and greetings went around, Troy took a moment to study their passenger. Andrew Spencer was about Troy's own height, but lighter of build, with dark curly hair, bright green eyes, and a smattering of freckles across his nose from the sun. He wore a British uniform and had a khaki pack marked with a red cross slung over his left shoulder. He seemed very young for a medic, and slightly nervous about being there.

"Have you been in Africa long?" Hitch asked; apparently Troy wasn't the only one who had noticed the apprehension.

"About six weeks," the medic replied. "I've been out in the field now and again, but so far I've spent more time helping out in the aid stations. I'm looking forward to seeing some more of the land."

Hitch's brows went up at that, and he visibly suppressed what must have been an urge to point out that there was a lot more out there than scenery. Anxious to get moving, Troy began shooing his driver toward their jeep.

"All right, guys, let's go. Spencer, you ride up front with Hitch; I'll find a place in the back."

###

The morning was fairly uneventful, except for a couple of friendly attempts on Hitch's part to shake up his new passenger with his driving. The noise of the engines prevented casual conversation, so they rode without talking for the most part, Spencer apparently taking in the scenery while the Rats watched for trouble. At about noon, they stopped for water and rations before continuing on. Troy and Moffitt checked their map during the break, to make sure they were still headed in the right direction.

"What's so important about this village, anyway?" Hitch wanted to know, as he peered over Troy's shoulder at the map.

"It's the crossroads of several trade routes, as well as a large oasis," Moffitt explained, pointing out those features on the paper he had spread over the hood of a jeep. "If we can win the village leaders over to our cause, as it were, the Jerries would lose access to the water, the roads, and the supplies they could purchase there."

"Assuming the leaders don't play both ends against the middle," Tully put in from his spot in the meager shade beside his jeep.

"They'd do that, Sergeant?" Spencer asked, turning to Moffitt. "Even if we had an agreement with them?"

"Oh, yes," Moffitt replied emphatically. He'd seen it happen, both before the war and since its start. "Of course, if they were getting something from us in the bargain that the Germans aren't able to provide…."

"– Such as medical support –" Spencer nodded in understanding.

"Exactly," Moffitt confirmed with a smile.

As they stowed the map and the small amount of gear they'd needed for their quick meal, Tully suddenly stopped and straightened, squinting off at the horizon.

"Sarge, I think your 'possible Jerries' just became positive," he said cryptically.

The others followed his gaze and recognized a vehicle on a distant dune; and Troy began digging around in the back of the jeep for the binoculars, a sudden misgiving growing in his mind.

"What's that?" Spencer asked, glancing uneasily between his companions.

After a moment's silence, Hitch murmured, "Halftrack."

"Dietrich," Troy growled, peering through the field glasses at a familiar form standing in the far-off vehicle. He knew things had been going too well.

"You _know_ him?" The medic blurted in surprise.

"You could say that," Moffitt confirmed drily. "What's he doing, Troy?"

"Watching me watching him, at the moment." Troy lowered the binoculars and began climbing into the back of the jeep. "Come on; let's get out of here before he decides to come over and say hello."

They left the area as quickly as possible, with the two sergeants at their guns, watching the distant halftrack until it was out of sight. An hour later, they settled cautiously back to their seats, but continued to study the horizon for the rest of the afternoon. Eventually, the Patrol relaxed, knowing better than to worry too much about future dangers – but their passenger remained skittish until they finally sighted buildings in the distance.

They arrived at the village about two hours before sundown, and Moffitt and Spencer located the little clinic and set out with their delivery. The local doctor had been trained in Cairo, but had been working in this village for the last decade – he had read about some of the items the Allies were "donating" to his practice, but had never actually seen them used. He was overjoyed about having them available for his patients, and sent the two Englishmen back to their companions with a small assortment of fresh fruit to complement their rations. The five men had an amiable evening meal just at sundown, sitting in the shelter of the two jeeps.

Troy took the first watch; although they felt reasonably safe from German attack here in the village, it was not outside the realm of possibility that some of the more desperate locals might try to relieve the Allies of their supplies. The night was clear, and quiet as only a desert night could be. To Troy, used to being out away from civilization, the noise of the village livestock settling for the night seemed inordinately loud. There were other sounds with which he was more familiar, though: the sounds of his teammates sleeping nearby, the creak of the metal plating on their jeeps cooling in the night air. Eventually, the sergeant realized he could hear Spencer still shifting uncomfortably in his bedroll, long after the rest of the Patrol – and the village – had gone to sleep.

"Can't get settled?" Troy asked quietly after a while.

Spencer rolled over stiffly and sat up, pulling his blanket up around him against the chill. "And I thought there wasn't anything more uncomfortable than an Army cot! I suppose I'm just not used to sleeping on the sand."

"How much time have you spent out here?"

Spencer hesitated. "I've been out with a few recon patrols, mostly up towards the coast. And one or two supply convoys."

Troy grimaced in the darkness, and decided he had better be direct. "This the first time you've seen a German unit?"

Another hesitation. "We've had a few close calls, but nothing you'd call an actual confrontation, I suppose," he replied carefully. "Does it matter? We got here in one piece."

Troy sighed. "Dietrich saw us go out; he knows where our base is. He'll be looking for us on the way back."

"Why would he bother with us on the way back? We won't have the supplies with us then."

"He doesn't know anything about the supplies; he doesn't know why we went out at all. But he'll definitely want to find out. And we've been known to give him a hard time, just on general principles. He'd love to have us out of the way permanently."

"I see," Spencer said softly, huddled in his blanket. "So you expect trouble tomorrow?"

"No more than I usually expect," Troy replied. He suddenly realized he had frightened the medic, and tried to reassure him without lying to him. "Look, we've gotten pretty good at staying out of his reach. Just stick close to one of us; we'll get you home."

Spencer was silent in the darkness for some time, then laid back down on his bedroll. "Good night, Sergeant."

"'Night, Spencer." Troy didn't know, as his watch wore on, if the medic had gone to sleep, but he lay quietly after that. He hadn't meant to scare the kid; but he had wanted Spencer to recognize that they weren't necessarily in the clear yet. They would all need to stay alert, if they were going to get home.

###

Tully woke them all just before dawn. An agitated local man was heading purposely toward their little camp at the edge of the village, and Moffitt went to meet him as the others waited warily by the jeeps. After a hasty exchange, accompanied by much hand waving and pointing on the part of the villager, Moffitt nodded and returned hurriedly to the others.

"We have to move," he said as he reached them, and Hitch and Tully immediately began breaking camp. "There's a German column heading this way; we have about twenty minutes to get under cover."

Troy swore under his breath. "That's gotta be Dietrich," he said. "He must have followed us yesterday." It figured. Only one man would be that stubborn – well, one _German_, anyway. He probably only delayed long enough to collect reinforcements, and then came after them.

"Just curious what we were up to, no doubt," Moffitt commented as he snatched up a blanket and pitched it into the closest jeep. "They've offered to hide us in their storehouse for the duration, jeeps and all, but we'll have to hurry."

"All right, guys, let's shake it," Troy announced – somewhat unnecessarily, since their camp had all but disappeared around him. Seeing their passenger standing stunned by his bedroll, he ordered, "Get a move on, Spencer; we didn't come all this way just to get these people killed."

Spencer started at that, looked around him in bewilderment, and began helping to pack with some semblance of composure.

They left the area where they had spent the night cleared of any evidence anyone had been there, and a pair of village boys followed them to the storehouse, herding a few dozen goats along the sandy street to cover the jeep tracks. Once inside, they cut the engines and threw tarps over the vehicles. If the Germans decided to look inside, the five men could hide under the tarps in the space between the two jeeps; hopefully, that would pass at least a casual inspection.

"What if they come in?" Spencer asked tensely.

"Then we're gonna have a problem," Tully replied under his breath. They spent the next few minutes stacking grain baskets on and around the jeeps for "camouflage," then settled in to wait. After some thought, Troy decided they should stay under the tarp, rather than try to get there quickly if the door opened. Once under cover, Tully produced a deck of playing cards and began to shuffle them quietly.

"So, Spencer," he whispered, grinning, "Ever play poker?"

"Only a few times," the medic replied with a sly smile of his own, "But often enough not to get into a game with a smooth-talking Yank."

The others laughed quietly, and Hitch murmured, "Got you there, didn't he, Tully?"

"Thanks anyway, but I think I'll just watch for now." Spencer sat back against a wheel, using his medical kit as a backrest, as the Kentuckian dealt the cards and the Rats began to play. It was already warm in their tiny shelter; they had left a corner of the tarp up for ventilation – they could pull it down quickly if necessary – but there was no real breeze in the storehouse. Having not slept well the previous night, Spencer was soon dozing where he sat, and was startled awake some time later by a hand over his mouth.

It was Moffitt. With his free hand, the English sergeant put one finger to his lips in a gesture for quiet, and Spencer nodded in understanding, his eyes wide. Outside the storehouse, they could clearly hear voices, speaking both German and Arabic, and the Rat Patrol was now wielding a small assortment of firearms for defense. Moffitt's gaze grew distant as he concentrated on eavesdropping, and he took his hand away from the medic's mouth.

After a few minutes, during which the other Rats and Spencer tensely watched their translator's face for signs of what was happening, the voices moved off and Moffitt sighed in relief. "Tully, go check the door."

"Was that Dietrich's voice?" Hitch asked in a hushed tone, as Pettigrew ducked out to take a look.

"None other," Moffitt confirmed. "They seem to have talked him out of checking in here; something about snakes."

"Bluffing, I hope?" Troy and the others were examining their surroundings with new respect.

"Couldn't tell," the Englishman replied with a grin.

Tully ducked back into their shelter. "Looks like they moved on."

"Great. Well, let's sit tight; they'll come and get us when it's clear."

After a few minutes, Hitch asked, "Can we get to the rations?" They had forgotten breakfast in their haste to get under cover.

"Oh – wait a minute!" Spencer pulled his medical kit around in front of him and started digging through the contents, eventually coming up with some rations packs and some leftover fruit from the night before.

"Spencer, you've been holding out on us!" Tully whispered in delight.

"Not at all. It just never hurts to be prepared," explained the medic, somewhat sheepishly, as he began passing the food around.

"I agree wholeheartedly," Moffitt commented, quietly open a package of crackers.

It was another hour before the village doctor came to advise the Allies that the Germans had left, going in the opposite direction of the Patrol's home base.

"He says he told Dietrich that we just stopped for water and kept going," Moffitt translated. "Dietrich apparently bought that and set out to follow us."

"That doesn't sound like him," Troy mused. He thought about it a moment – Dietrich wasn't usually that easy to lose. But then, their hosts wouldn't be giving them the all-clear if there were a German column sitting right outside; the last thing the locals would want would be a battle in their back yard.

"Well, I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth," he finally decided. "Let's head for home; we'll be doing the last leg in the dark as it is."

They traveled until midafternoon with no trouble; it was Moffitt, constantly looking over his shoulder, who spotted several vehicles coming up behind them. A shouted warning alerted the others, and the two sergeants scrambled for their guns as the jeeps shot forward.

"What is it?" Hitch shouted over the engine noise, as Spencer grabbed at the dashboard with one hand for support.

"Couple of halftracks," Troy called back. Dietrich must have circled around and come back at them. As if in confirmation, a shell exploded to their left, and the jeep swerved, nearly throwing Spencer out of the vehicle altogether.

"Hold on," Hitch yelled unnecessarily. The medic ducked reflexively as Troy's fifty began firing, seemingly right above his head.

Shells continued to fall around the two jeeps for several minutes, and then Troy managed to take out the fuel tank on one of the halftracks, and the barrage lessened as a fireball filled the space where that vehicle had been. Spencer risked looking back over his shoulder, and two things happened at once. Moffitt managed to hit one of the front wheels on the remaining halftrack, and that same halftrack landed a shell close enough to Troy's jeep to momentarily rock it up on two wheels and dump Troy out on the sand.

Hitch braked violently and put his jeep into reverse, and Tully slowed as well, circling so Moffitt could cover them all. Spencer started to jump out and go to Troy's aid, only to have Hitch grab his shoulder and hold him back. Before the medic could protest, Troy stumbled to his feet and waved him off, throwing himself into the back of the jeep. With everyone aboard, the Patrol sped off, out of range of the wounded but still firing halftrack.

Troy, lying on his left side in the back of the jeep, looked up as they bounced along to find Spencer trying to climb over the seat to get to him. "Stay put!" He shouted, and the medic only hesitated a moment before settling again to a more secure position, frustration on his face despite the order.

Troy spent the next thirty minutes trying to hold on and keep his pain to himself, as Hitch roared along at full speed ahead of Tully and Moffitt. His right shoulder throbbed in time with his pulse and exploded in agony with each bump, and he couldn't move his arm; but the others had enough to worry about without his adding to it. When they finally slowed, Troy began trying to roll to a sitting position, wanting to see that they were out of danger before he allowed them to stop – not that he didn't think Moffitt wouldn't overrule him, if the English sergeant thought it was necessary. They were pulling up in the shelter of a wadi. Spencer had turned in his seat and snagged his medical bag, and was out of the jeep before Hitch had completely stopped, regarding Troy with determination.

Moffitt and Tully were on the way over from their own jeep as Hitch and Spencer assisted Troy in getting down. As he stepped into the rider's seat and then to the ground, Troy pulled his right arm tightly to his side and held it there with his left hand. Standing up had destroyed what small amount of composure he had managed to regain, and he knew his face was the color of paste.

"Steady on, Sergeant," Spencer said evenly, easing his patient to a seat on the sand by the jeep and reaching for the injured arm. "Let's have a look, then."

"Landed on it wrong," Troy explained through clenched teeth. "Think it's separated."

After a moment, during which Spencer peeled Troy's shirt out of the way to examine the purpling shoulder and the sergeant tried not to flinch, Moffitt sent the two privates to check out the jeeps for damage and watch for signs of pursuit. Eventually, the medic began searching his bag for supplies, offering Troy a weak grin.

"Well, you may be right," he said, pulling out some bandages. "It's hard to tell, though, with all the swelling, if everything's where it should be or not. We'll wrap it up for the trip, and let the doctors have a look when we get home, shall we?" He began binding Troy's arm across his chest with the bandages for support, finally pulling the khaki shirt back up over the injured shoulder. "Can I give you something for the pain?"

"Nah." Immobilized against his body, Troy's arm and shoulder were only slightly less painful, but he didn't want to take anything that might put him to sleep before they were safely home. Still concerned about the possibility that Dietrich might yet be able to catch up with them, Troy looked around, scanning the horizon. "All right, guys, let's go."

"Oh, no, you don't," Moffitt replied firmly, as Hitch and Tully returned. Glancing at the privates to confirm that the area was secure – and receiving two nods – he continued, "Let's just settle here for a few minutes and catch our breath, shall we?"

"Well, let's at least move into the shade," Troy suggested, indicating the shadows at the western edge of the wadi and accepting Moffitt's assistance in getting to his feet.

As he stood with the others, though, Spencer went as white as his patient had been a moment ago and swayed on his feet, as the adrenaline from his first firefight finally gave out and the need to see to a wounded man, deeply ingrained through his training, passed. Tully, being nearest, caught his elbow and helped him sit back down.

"I think you need to put your head kinda between your knees," the Kentuckian suggested tactfully, crouching beside him and putting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

"I think that's supposed to be my line," Spencer breathed in reply, complying nonetheless. After a few moments, he was able to look up again, and his color was beginning to come back, though partly due to embarrassment. "Sorry," he said self-consciously. "I can't believe I did that."

"You should have seen me the first time," Hitch said kindly. "I couldn't eat for two days." The others offered reassurances as well, but Spencer still looked like he wanted to crawl under a rock and hide.

Although both Troy and Spencer insisted they were well enough to set out immediately, Moffitt decided to give them a few more minutes rest, anyway. They passed a canteen around, and soon felt ready to finish the journey back to their base.

###

Back at camp, two jeeps and five weary men pulled up in the motor pool shortly after dark. As they all climbed out and Spencer gathered his kit from behind his seat, Troy asked, "Anyone for some chow?"

"Sure, Sarge," Hitch replied, and Tully laughed.

"Hitch, are you ever _not_ hungry?" He asked.

"Sergeant, we really need to have that shoulder looked at," Spencer reminded Troy.

Troy sighed heavily, looking to his teammates for support, but Moffitt chuckled and said, "Don't look at us; Spencer's the medical expert. Catch up with us when you're done – both of you."

The two men set off for the medical tent, and were soon waiting for a doctor to come examine Troy. It was quiet for a change in the large tent; with no major battles currently taking place, there were only relatively minor cases to deal with. In fact, the doctor on duty was currently taking care of an injury suffered during a rather rowdy game of after-dark soccer. Spencer set about helping Troy get his shirt off, but wouldn't meet his patient's eyes. He was still somewhat displeased with his earlier reaction to combat, and slightly embarrassed at being declared a "medical expert."

Troy, guessing at least part of the younger man's concerns, said softly, "You did pretty good today." When Spencer looked at him in surprise and paused in loosening his bandages, he shrugged. "Everyone responds to battle differently. Hitch told you about his experience; I was a lot like you – bottom dropped right out."

"But you don't react like that anymore," Spencer protested. "None of you do."

"Not exactly like that, no," Troy agreed. "We hide it better now, I guess. But if you think we're not scared to death every time someone starts shooting at us – well, guess again."

He let the medic absorb that for a while, then reiterated, "You did do well. You stayed out of the way during the actual fight, and you did your job when you were needed. If you stop reacting at all, _then_ you have a problem."

"I suppose," Spencer replied reluctantly, studying the toes of his boots.

Troy smiled warmly, trying to lighten the mood. "And I think I'm in favor of taking a medic with us on every mission from now on; I like your 'bedside manner' a lot better than Hitch's."

That finally got a small smile. The doctor was approaching now, and Spencer began to unwrap Troy's arm and shoulder for examination. He knew he would be doing some thinking on this subject for some time. It was something of a consolation that he had not just frozen up completely; a medic paralyzed with fear would be no help to anyone. And he was certain he wanted to help.

"Well," he said at last, stepping back to make room for the physician and looking at Troy with a twinkle in his eye. "I did enjoy the ride."


End file.
